


Too Close

by the_shy_shrimp



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Because that's the best Elrond, Head Injury, Healer Elrond, Just don't get blood on the floor, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Touch-Starved, if it ain't broke break it - Freeform, reader requires copious amounts of personal space, that's our main concern here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_shy_shrimp/pseuds/the_shy_shrimp
Summary: I'm not sure this whole "traveling in a group" thing is going to work out, especially since I haven't really been in contact with civilized folks for the better part of a handful of decades, and dwarves have zero respect for personal space. Especially when they sleep. This is going to cause problems. A lot of problems.... I really should have just stayed out in the wilds, hermit life be damned.
Kudos: 20





	Too Close

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to read the tags before continuing! I don't want to cause any problems, specifically with the blood and panic and all that.

_Crushing, pulling, snatching. Dragging away._

_They are going to hurt you! They always do, you know it!_

_Don’t let them touch you. Don’t listen to them. Don’t let them get close._

_Too late!_

_THEY’RE HERE!_

I wake with a start, my heart thundering in my chest as the same nightmare that has haunted me for weeks dissolves once again into the blackness. But this time, the total darkness of the forest is not there. No, instead it is the dimly lit space in the room assigned to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and all save the wizard are accounted for.

My heart still races as I extricate myself from the pile of Dwarves that had nearly suffocated me, and I dart out the door and into the hallway. I need air, space, somewhere distracting where I can forget it. Not so much the nightmare, no, but the feeling of too many bodies pressed around me.

It had been decades since I had touched another living being, having lived in isolation for the majority of that time. But traveling with these Dwarves had changed that, rapidly. Apparently touch held a significant place in their culture, and no matter how I tried to distance myself from them, I could never avoid a clap on the shoulder, a friendly nudge, or waking up in a pile of bodies. It was overwhelming.

Finally, I find myself at a balcony overlooking the valley. The soft _shush_ of the waterfalls is a welcome replacement to the sound of snoring and too many breaths taken in the same space. I fold my arms across the railing and let my head hang, leaning into the structure, closing my eyes and breathing deeply in the misty night air. But just when I am starting to come down off of the adrenaline rush, I am startled by the sudden presence of another.

“Are you alright, milady?”

My head jerks upwards, and a thunderous _crack_ echoes down the valley walls as my skull collides with the stone railing. It is a matter of only a second before I actually feel the pain, a time that I spend still trying to stand upright, until the splitting ache reverberates through my skull and I find myself no longer able to do so. My neck tenses up, and in an instant, I am on the floor, staring up at the shocked expression of one of our host’s staff; a night watch, or perhaps a housekeeper who just happened to be passing by.

I prop myself up, slowly, and reach up to touch the back of my head, where the pain is greatest. My fingers come away slick with blood, and I feel the sudden urge to vomit. I hear hurried footsteps, and I don’t even have to look to know that the one who saw me has fled. I am alone now and bleeding it would seem. I have been through worse, but my head hurts too much to move. I do not dare try to get up, for fear I would end up back on the floor anyway, and so instead I curl up on my side, trying not to get too much blood on the floor as I drift hazily back toward sleep.

At least out here there are no Dwarves to suffocate me.

* * *

I float closer to wakefulness, and there are voices and hands, too many of both of them. There is a mix of urgency and tenuously attempts at comfort in the voices, but I pull away from the hands as far as I am able: they are almost as bad as the Dwarves. There is one, louder than the rest, who appears to be taking control of the situation. What situation is that again…? Oh yes, my head has split open, and I am bleeding all over the marble floors.

“Be still.” The one who has taken charge says, as I open my eyes to finally see what is going on. “I need you to stay awake but try not to tense. It will make the bleeding worse.”

I know these things, and I know his voice. It is familiar, not only from the distant past, but a time so recent as that day. He was at the feast held when we first arrived. But it is more than that, this voice belongs to the master of the house, I realize as I finally make eye contact. Instantly, I feel the heat of shame flash across my face. I had only wanted to find some fresh air, not wake the whole household, and especially not Lord Elrond.

I don’t protest when a litter is brought, and I am told that they are going to take me away to somewhere where my head can be treated: I am too embarrassed. Instead, I sigh, settling on my side so that there is less pressure on the back of my skull, and watch the wall as it passes. I nearly doze off on several occasions, but always Elrond is there, his wide hand pressed against the side of my face, urging me to stay conscious. And how can I deny such a gracious host?

They place me on a high padded table, in a secluded room lit by many candles. At least it is more comfortable than the floor, even if it means they are prodding at my head wound while I lie here. I hiss when the wound itself is touched, and the hands withdraw to be replaced by a damp cloth.

“Do you remember what happened?” the master of the house asks, glancing down at me while he applies pressure to the rag at the back of my skull.

I sigh heavily before answering, displeased with the idiocy of what happened. “I smacked my head on the railing of the balcony. Your night watch startled me.”

He blinks, nods, and returns to picking at the tear in my scalp, though it is blessedly numb now, totally without feeling. Whatever was soaked into that cloth must have done something to the nerves there… I feel nothing but vague tugging as the skin is sutured back together, and thick pressure as a bandage is bound in place.

There are fewer people around, only the Lord of the Valley and an assistant, and so things are... better. I feel less like I am surrounded, less like I should be afraid. Although it is very early in the morning, I do not feel tired enough to sleep; I have been kept awake for long enough that I am not even drowsy.

“I do not think you are concussed.” I lift my eyes to see the master of the house looking down again at me. He brings a candle close and sets it on a nearby table. “I will stay with you for the remainder of the night, regardless.”

“Does the Lord of Imladris have nothing better to do this night?” I ask, my smile slightly cockeyed. “Would he not much rather return to the comfort of his chambers?”

His face darkens into a sad smile. “Sleep is an uneasy companion in these days of gathering darkness, save for those in need of healing.”

The comment’s hidden meaning is not lost on me. Nonetheless I choose to ignore it. There is no possibility of me sleeping more this night, I am too far from safety, placed here on display as some sort of trophy. All I can really hope for is that the blood comes out of the floor, at this point.

“Is that a threat, or a promise?” I huff, amused, and he seems to catch the humor as well.

“Both, if you need it to be.” His expression turns sly, and his hand returns to the side of my face. “Go to sleep. Rest and heal.”

“Fine.” I snort, and instantly regret it as it jars my skull. At least I’m not still being crushed by dwarves.


End file.
